A dreary afternoon two days later found Michel and Yuki lounging in the family room after school, watching reruns of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" on the BBC. Yuki had had a big test that day which he felt he'd done miserably on and was therefore miserable. He was eating Oreo Cookies; or rather, he was licking the cream from the middle and piling the cookie parts on a napkin. A glass of milk sat on the coffee table which he explained was for dipping the cookies at a later time.
Michel was gazing absently at the television. When he was in a certain mood, he rather liked Monty Python, but this episode about self-defense against fruit just wasn't doing it for him. It was ironic, he thought bitterly, that it would happen to be such an episode, when he was the "fruit" people were trying to harm. Yuki was sniggering constantly; he apparently had a great fondness for the work of John Cleese and Eric Idle; he'd said he grew up watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
"Yuki?" Michel finally broke the silence between them, turning his green gaze to the older teen.
"Eh?" Yuki grunted out a response, face still turned towards the glowing television.
"That boy you have the crush on…" The blond paused, biting his lip. He was unsure how Yuki would react to this next bit of information. "I spoke to him yesterday."
"You WHAT!" Yuki finally managed to tear himself away from the antics of Cleese and stared at his companion. Why would Michel talk to that boy? How? When? He felt his face heat up. This had potential to be bad…
"He was sitting at the little café on the corner, drinking tea. I stopped in to purchase those biscuits we had after dinner and noticed him there." Michel smiled, "He looked particularly lonely."
"So naturally you went to talk to him." Yuki's sarcasm was apparently lost on Michel, as the tiny blond enthusiastically plowed on with his story of the previous afternoon's events.
"Of course I did! I got myself a mocha with whipped cream as a reason to stay and asked if I could sit with him. He said it was fine, so I sat. I introduced myself and asked if he lived around here and he said aye!" Here Michel paused to beam at Yuki, "Only a couple a blocks away, he said. His name is Haku and he's from Japan, like Aya and Ken. His dad's company sent them here, to their London branch, and he doesn't know any one else here that's Japanese, only his mum and dad." The little blond wriggled in his seat, looking quite excited, "And he's noticed you! He's seen you and I together, so he was asking me about you. He wanted to know if you were Japanese and I said you were, but you were part American too! Next time you see him, you should go talk to him." This bit of advice given, Michel sat back, grinning widely at Yuki.
Yuki stared at him for a moment, unsure what to say. He wasn't quite sure if Michel's meddling would yield positive or negative results, but he did at least know the mystery boy's name. That in itself was helpful, if nothing else. "Thanks." He finally managed, "I guess."
Michel beamed at him, not allowing Yuki's hesitancy and uncertainty to register properly in his mind. If he pretended that certain unhappiness wasn't there, he wouldn't feel as if Yuki were upset with him for his forwardness and probably unwanted help in the situation. He knew Yuki would not be pleased that he'd talked to this mysterious Haku-person, but he kept telling himself he was being helpful. It was simply easier that way.
Yuki frowned lightly, turning his attention back to his Oreos and the television. When Michel got in these "helpful" sorts of moods, it was easier to concentrate on something else and pretend the whole thing had never happened. Of course, Yuki himself wasn't as good at pretending things never happened as Michel was, but when it came to the little blond, he had himself well-trained to ignore the things about him which bothered him.
Yuki distinctly remembered the night he and Michel had met. In his first moments in the presence of the members of Side B, he had judged the slightly-smaller boy to be aggravating. He just wouldn't stop talking and Yuki hadn't cared…"You're Japanese, aren't you? Just like Aya and Ken! I'm from Ireland…Don't remember it much. You speak English well, but it's not the Queen's English, it's more of what Chloé tells me is 'slum talk.' Not to say you're from a slum or anything! Where are you from, anyway?" He hadn't bothered to ask again who Chloé was, rather he had told Michel to shut up; that they had nothing to say to each other. And still, the other teen had persisted and Yuki had found himself more than annoyed.
As he got used to Michel, the annoyance seemed to slowly fade away. He got aggravated or riled easily over things his companion said or did, but it wasn't the same kind of intense, I-wish-you'd-leave-me-alone annoyance as it had been in the early stages of their relationship. He found himself simmering down quicker and, upon reevaluating what had got him pissed off in the first place, realizing that Michel wasn't actually as obnoxious as he'd first thought. They did have a lot in common and the younger teen did have every one's best interests at heart.
He would never admit it, but he found that he was actually rather fond of Michel.
Yuki was so lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize that Michel had left the room. He looked up from the cookies he'd engrossed himself in, surprised to find the spot next to him vacant and Michel gone. He blinked, wondering how long he'd been staring at the cookies, then shrugged, turning his attention back to the television.
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Michel had gotten bored. His attention span wasn't craving the slap-stick comedy that the Python troupe presented and he could only watch Yuki's meticulous dissection of Oreo cookies for so long. He knew that his American friend could spend hours engrossed in whatever he was watching, provided the right thing was on, and he was itching to do something worthwhile.
He peeked into the shop, making a note that Ken was watering plants and Free was at the register, ringing up a purchase for a shy, seemingly-nervous woman. He shook his head slightly, wondering how any one could be afraid of Free, then padded up the back steps to his bedroom.
For a moment, Michel thought he might dig out his pastels and draw. He had told Chloé he wanted to begin drawing again, after all. The day before, he had squirmed under his bed to the very back corner and pulled out -covered in dust bunnies- the sketch pad he'd known was under there somewhere. How the book had wound up in the very recesses of the cavern that was the underside of his bed, he never was quite sure. But there it was, one corner slightly crumpled, but still functional.
He had put it in a drawer in his desk, tucked away safely until he needed or wanted it. The box of pastels he'd gotten last Christmas was also somewhere in the desk, but he hadn't used them in months and forgotten which drawer he'd put them in.
Michel didn't particularly feel like hunting down the small metal box of pastels. He was sort of unorganized, although there was a method to his madness, and finding things was sometimes something of a hassle.
Instead, he decided it would be easier to start on his homework and save himself the bother of doing it later when he was tired or didn't feel like it. Only Yuki put off his homework until the last minute and risked the wrath of Aya. Only Yuki was brave enough. Aya had never yelled at Michel for anything, but then the blond didn't often give him occasion to. Michel couldn't remember the last time -save his trying to leave school early- he had caused any sort of transgression that would result in an Aya-lecture.
He had a history assignment that he wasn't especially keen on doing. History bored him and he hated it, especially because the boys in his class liked to poke fun at him whenever there was any sort of mention of the Irish in their textbook. It wasn't his fault he was Irish nor was it his fault that he now lived in London. This was one of those occasions where -if he were particularly vindictive- he could have blamed everything on Free. After all, if Free hadn't brought him here, he simply wouldn't be here.
But then…He would also be dead.
Not a thought he wanted lingering too long.
Besides, he loved Free. He couldn't blame him. It was Krypton's fault, if any one's. He'd ordered Side A to eliminate his parents. He'd decided to keep Michel, rather than look for his family. His brother was out there somewhere. Brandon would have been in his twenties by now…Twenty-four if Michel remembered correctly. He wondered sometimes why Krypton and Nana had never looked for Brandon, but didn't bother questioning it too much. The Brandon of his memory had been like a younger, smaller version of their father and he wasn't sure he wanted anything having to do with the IRA as a part of his life again.
Even with that, he couldn't bring himself to hate Krypton either. He was alive, he had a good home and he was well taken care of, even if no one at the Kitten's House but Yuki knew what it was like to be a teenager. And Yuki wasn't exactly helpful. He preferred to submerge himself in television and Playstation games, totally oblivious to real life. Not helpful at all.
He sighed, staring down at his textbook. He couldn't concentrate and the words seemed to all run together. He had no clue what he was reading about or what he was supposed to be doing. Answering some questions, maybe. That was usually what the history assignments consisted of. Boring. Dull. He simply couldn't do it. It occurred to him that he'd been reading the same sentence over and over again for the last fifteen minutes or so and had absolutely no clue what it said.
Frustrated, he shoved his chair back from the desk. His work would have to wait until later. He was feeling too strung out and flighty to get any of it done.
Michel wandered back downstairs, intent on finding something to keep himself busy until dinnertime. Yuki wouldn't leave the den until some one pried him out of the couch cushions, not with the prospect of several more hours of Monty Python to keep him busy. Aya had the day off and Chloé was running errands. That gave Michel three choices to keep himself entertained.
He could do some chores. Aya was the stickler about keeping clean and he was out, so the place hadn't been tidied according to Aya-standards. He could go out for a while; no one would mind. Or he could go see if Free and Ken needed any help in the shop.
The shop seemed like the best option. The weather forecast that morning had prophesized rain and the sky was rather grey. Cleaning was by far his least favorite of the options. Besides, Ken got on Free's nerves at time. It was hard to tell, really; Free was always so impassive. But Michel knew…
So the shop it was.
He padded in, offering a surprisingly shy, soft "hullo." His standard greeting was usually much more exuberant, not to mention much, much louder. Ken gave him a strange look, but recovered quickly, grinning and waving with a cheerful hello. The brunet was still watering things; it seemed that not much time had elapsed between Michel's checking up on his teammates and his failed attempt at homework.
He watched Free for a moment. Two school-aged children were looking at him nervously, as if they were debating over whether or not it was safe to approach him. Free was doing a good job pretending he wasn't watching them analyze him, but Michel could see the man's dark, heavy-lidded eyes trained on them. The little blond tried to imagine how Free must have looked to the brother and sister duo, but he simply could not understand why they were so hesitant to approach him. He'd never been afraid of Free; not even when he was small.
The sister was whispering to her brother, trying to push him towards the counter. He was shaking his head, his expression one of slight fear. "You do it!" He whispered loudly.
Michel frowned softly. He had just noticed the bouquet of daisies and baby's breath in the girl's hand and figured they must have picked it out themselves, as Ken was busy and they had yet to realize how nice Free was. Forcing a wide, friendly smile onto his face, he went over to the siblings. "May I help you with something?"
The sister looked up, startled. The brother gave him a suspicious glance, looked warily at Free, then back at Michel. "You work here?" The authoritative, albeit incredulous, tone of the boy's voice nearly made the teenager laugh.
"Aye." He nodded patiently. The boy looked around eleven; the girl, maybe eight or nine. "Did you find everything all right?" He asked politely.
The girl brandished the bouquet, which looked slightly wilted. He wondered momentarily how long she'd been holding it in a vice-grip. "It's for Mum…It's her birthday." She offered, stealing another look at Free.
It was beginning to irk Michel. He knew Free's attention had turned away from these stupid children; he had felt that deep gaze on him the moment the man had registered his presence in the shop. He was used to that. His friend's watchfulness was familiar and needed; it made him safe. Free would never let any one hurt him. Why couldn't these children see that? "If you're all set then, Free-" He nodded towards the register, "-can ring you up."
The sister shot him a frightened look, then turned to her brother for guidance. Michel turned away, rolling his eyes, then padded over to the counter to fetch the broom and dustpan. It appeared Ken had knocked some petals and dead leaves to the ground as he watered the plants and it was Michel's intent to clean them up. He paused to smile at Free, who patted him on the head, then scampered back over towards the shedding displays.
As if emboldened by Michel's bravery in the face of the "terror" that was Free, the brother shoved his sister forwards towards the register, as she was still clutching the bouquet. She gave an indignant squeak, looking pleadingly at him, and he huffed, then snatched the flowers from her hand. She followed closely behind him, as if unwilling to let him get away and leave her there. He marched purposefully to the counter and thumped down the slightly-wilted bouquet, chin raised, nose in the air like a common snob. "We," He stated, nodding towards his sister, "Want to buy this."
Free studied him for a moment, a bored look on his face. Took in the pale skin. Freckles. A thatch of brown hair and eyes surprisingly as deeply blue as Yuki's. The girl, an identical, female and smaller version of her brother, was peeking out at him. Scared of him. They were scared of him; both of them. That much he could see.
He didn't understand why though. Michel had never been afraid of him. Neither had Yuki. But then, he suspected that there were few things Yuki was afraid of.
He attempted to smile at the two children. Got stuck. Smiling was still hard, even now, even when he had many things to smile about. He abandoned the endeavor and rang up their purchase, silent. He looked at the flowers. They'd selected one of the pre-made bouquets from the refrigerated display case. Yuki and Michel had done all of those arrangements; they were the simple, last minute bouquets that people tended to stop and pick up on their way home from work. Daisies and baby's breath. Innocence. He doubted that they knew the meaning, yet it was so perfectly fitting.
He must have told them the amount due, because the boy plunked the money on the counter, still staring at him rudely. Free blinked at him, counting the money silently as he placed it in the drawer of the cash register. He handed the boy his change, their gaze still trailed on one another. The girl picked up the bouquet and they moved towards the door, almost as one singular unit, no other words exchanged between them.
Free looked up to find Michel watching him.
The little blond was holding the broom in one hand, a broken rosebud in the other. He was twirling the mangled flower between his fingers and blushed when he realized he'd been caught staring.
Free smiled at him. As hard as it was to smile at any one else, Michel made it seem simple. It was so easy to smile with him, to laugh and to be genuine. Inner-Free grinned in triumph when the smile caused Michel to blush brighter, and he beckoned the boy over to him.
Michel padded over, the broom trailing behind him. His face was still pink; the blush had crept across the bridge of his nose and he was smiling shyly, grey-green eyes sparkling. Again, the word "adorable" flitted through Free's mind as he watched his young friend move towards him.
The teenager was still holding the rosebud; it had been snapped, undoubtedly, by a careless customer. He offered it to Free. "Some one broke it." God, that was a stupid thing to say. Of course it was broken; that much was obvious.
Free took it carefully, holding it between thumb and forefinger. He studied it for a moment, then nodded decisively. "It may still live, if we are careful. Will you get me a bud vase please?" He smiled as Michel ran off, looking down at the bud in his hand. Beauty and youth; a heart innocent of love. Michel was like that bud; broken, manhandled. But if cared for properly, both could still bloom.
Michel came back soon enough, a small, crystal vase in his hand. His movements were deliberate, as if he was afraid he might drop the vase. Free was certain that the blond would, under no circumstances, be so clumsy, but he wasn't about to complain. He enjoyed watching that lean body moving so gracefully; imagining, mentally undressing, wondering what the teen looked like…Where had that come from? He shook his head softly, schooling that thought and tucking it away for later consideration.
The bud was placed ceremoniously in the vase, the vase set just so beside the cash register. Free leaned casually against the counter, watching his friend lovingly tend to the broken flower. Watched as small hands arranged the bud satisfactorily in the vase. Michel's eyes were shining contentedly, more green than grey today. He seemed happy. Unlike the past few days, when he had been ignoring Free.
Free reached out, almost hesitant, resting a hand on Michel's shoulder. The boy turned in one fluid motion, beaming up at him. He swallowed hard -how did Michel make him melt like that with just one little look?- offering his version of a smile in return. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a split second to compose himself. It would be so easy to haul Michel off and…The thought shocked him.
Upon opening his eyes, he found Michel looking at him quizzically, gaze wide and curious.
"Are you all right?" Those wide eyes blinked; that soft voice was full of concern.
"I am fine." Another half-smile softened Free's face. He wanted desperately to ask why Michel had been avoiding him; he couldn't bear to think he'd done something to upset him. But he couldn't bring himself to destroy the happy moment. "You don't have any homework today?"
"Couldn't concentrate." Michel shrugged, "I'll do it later." He smiled shyly, toying with the hem of his shirtsleeve. "Besides, I'd much rather be with you at the moment." He cuddled against Free's side, feeling oddly vulnerable all of a sudden. One of Free's large hands rose; the man began stroking his hair unconsciously. He felt his face heat up at the contact and hated himself for blushing. "I love you." It would have been so easy to say it; it was there, on the tip of his tongue. But he knew Free wouldn't take him seriously; how could he possibly?
He wondered for a moment if things would have been different if he were a girl. He looked so much like his mother; he would have been the kind of girl every man wanted: slender, blonde, shy and pretty. What every boy wished for and what every girl wish they were, if the media gave any indication. He was all those things still; oh yes he was. But he was a boy and, as a boy, he shouldn't have been so.
If he were a girl, though, it would make so many things okay. It would be okay for him to be attracted to Free. It would be okay for him to admit to the attraction. It would be okay for the boys at St. Justin Martyr's to desire him. Not to touch him, but to desire him. His clothes, his hair, his face…It would all be perfectly normal. It would be okay; it would all be fine. And he wouldn't be going to Hell.
He yawned softly, nuzzling into the gentle touches. It was only five o'clock, but he was tired. He was always tired these days, it seemed; he never got enough sleep. No matter when he went to bed, he woke up tired. He had nightmares; he couldn't get comfortable. The only times he ever got a good, restful sleep were those nights he crept into Free's room.
"Stay here and help me then." Free's voice broke through his thoughts, "There is a lot of change that needs to be rolled." He was still fingering the baby-fine curls, secretly enjoying the feel of the tiny body pressed to his side.
"Okay." Michel nodded, "We can do it together."
"Ja." Free's mouth curved upwards in a faint smile, "Together."
